


Closure

by WilliamTheB



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Death References, Episode: s07e19 Empty Places, Gen, Internal Monologue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-22
Updated: 2013-02-22
Packaged: 2017-12-03 04:46:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/694325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WilliamTheB/pseuds/WilliamTheB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Willow has one last thing to take care of before the upcoming Apocalypse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Closure

_Willow falters as she approaches the house._  
  
After she’d been with Xander for a few hours in the late morning and early afternoon, he said that he wanted to be alone for a while. Willow nearly begged to stay, but he waved her off and said he needed an hour to himself. Some thinking, he said. She responded that two heads were better than one. “Sure, same with eyes. But sometimes you’ve got to just make do with one. Besides,” he pointed to his bandage, “you don’t want to be here when they change it.” He was deflecting, she knew that, which is why she didn’t protest—because if anyone in the world could handle the gore it was her, right?  
  
In a payphone in the lobby, she called Casa Summers to ask if there was anything that needed doing. Giles told her to stay near the hospital and relax. They didn’t need her today but they’d need her every day going forward, so she should forget about the First for the first (and last) time. She hung up the phone without arguing, though she could think of a dozen arguments why Giles’ logic was faulty, a half-dozen of which might stand up to his scrutiny. But she knew she’d be arguing for the wrong reasons, because of whose house was five minutes walking distance from the hospital.  
  
 _Willow stands in front of the door, readying herself to knock._  
  
She’d meant to do this months ago, really. Surely it should be near the top (or would it be bottom? bottom comes first, she corrected) of the twelve-step program for murderers (’cause the one for magic worked so well, obviously). But it was easy to put off. It was hard enough talking to Dawnie and Buffy and she’d only, respectively, threatened and beat the crap out of them. And they were, y’know, Dawn and Buffy. This was going to be something else. And there was no more time to put it off: the Apocalypse was coming in a few days and everyone was clearing out of town. And in a few days, Willow might be dead.  
  
She should never have put it off.  
  
She shouldn’t be doing this now.  
  
 _She glances at a window and searches for a light inside. It’s too bright, outdoors, to see._  
  
The house was probably empty, now, anyway. But maybe she was still inside, hoping he was still out there somewhere, just a missing person who might stop being missing some day. There never was a body; Willow had seen to that. Closure, right? Everybody needs it.  
  
Could she apologize? Was she actually sorry she’d done it? She’d never do it again, it’s not like that’s an issue. She knew it intellectually, that everyone deserved a chance, lots of chances, that the only reason she was still here is that the people around her believed that everyone should have a chance. She never shot anyone, and she felt the weight of Tara in her arms...but then he never tried to activate any she-demons and burn the Earth to a cinder. Which, to be fair, might be as much about she-demon issues as the world, but, well, benefit of the doubt. And even if he deserved it, it wasn’t her call, and here was someone whose life was ruined because of her and all she could think of was herself, and her lover’s body and...  Was she even doing _this_ for herself? No, no...she was sorry, she was. She hoped she was.  
  
 _Willow gently raps on the door and holds her breath._  
  
Would she call the police after Willow told her? It was a risk. Not that they’d believe it, but…well, maybe, Sunnydale and all, they would. Willow could maybe do a spell so—no, no, no spells, not now, bad Willow, bad thought, spells are for killing vampires and Bringers and maybe if she got lucky the First would show up and then she could deal with her or him or it and not have to wait around forever and…. No spells.  
  
And, well, she had a right to justice. And Willow deserved punishment. A little incarceration seemed to make Faith more personable. She hated herself for thinking it but women’s prisons carried a certain appeal, especially if she and Kennedy weren’t all long-term material, which.... Most of all, she wouldn’t have to worry every day about whether she was going to hurt someone again. But then with the First she couldn’t just stay in prison, and the gang would probably jailbreak her. How irresponsible was it to put her friends in that position? She shouldn’t be doing this, it’s too big a risk, Giles would _kill_ her, or maybe praise her but probably kill, and what would Buffy do now anyway? But then it’s not about her, maybe not even about the world this time. It’s about what she did. Who she did it to.  
  
The people she didn’t leave a body behind for.  
  
 _The door opens a crack, the chain still attached. Sad bloodshot eyes peer out. “Well?”_  
  
Each word an effort, careful not to stammer, Willow answers: “Mrs. Mears? Hi. It’s, um...it’s about your son.”


End file.
